


A Crisis Concerto

by Mairi Nathaira (Tara)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Classical Music, Drama, Humour, M/M, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tara/pseuds/Mairi%20Nathaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron’s not only divorced and lonely, but he’s also going through a life-crisis. Not a mid-life crisis, mind you (he’s far too young for that!), just a simple life-crisis. Then along comes Teddy who changes everything with a new attitude and a love for classical music. Will Ron go along or will he drop a piano or two on this opportunity?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crisis Concerto

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2011 Teddy Fest using prompt #29 — “You’re the only thing I ever want anymore.” — The National. So many people endured my whinging with this fic, and those lovelies even helped me when I got stuck and cheered me on. I thank Ayla Pascal, Luvscharlie, Thilia, Carolinelamb, Songquake, and Misbehavingmom for their encouragement and help! Many thanks to Ayla Pascal and Songquake for betaing <3

There was a floor in the flat, somewhere, hiding under wrinkled clothes that covered up the stained carpet. The kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes, cups, and silverware, all carrying some kind of food residue like rusted metal. Dust had piled up on top of the bare mantel; beneath it, the fireplace was cold and lonely. The windows of the flat were cracked open an inch and covered with drab-looking curtains that used to be white; their ends were frayed with threads hanging and fluttering from the light breeze. A tiny beam of light tried to peek through the drapery, but it was soaked up by the darkness of the place; the sitting room's only light source was the telly, which blared with well-timed laughter and applause, and a lamp in the corner.

Off in that same corner were two orange-coloured armchairs that had seen better days. Between the chairs was a small table with a chess set on it. The chess set was the only thing in the room that looked immaculate. The board, its black and white squares made of black onyx and Mother of Pearl, were enhanced never to chip or scratch, even when the game became violent. Each piece was hand-carved with intricate details and spelled with a powerful charm that granted them strong and unique personalities. Just like the board, they were spelled never to become permanently damaged.

One of the chairs was occupied, and its occupant let out a weary sigh. The owner's freckled hand reached out and slowly moved a piece to its destination.

"Checkmate," Ron said softly as he set the black piece down in the square to deliver the game's final move. He didn't hear the cheerful laughter from the telly as he leaned back heavily against his chair, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly to his right, his eyes passing the telly and meeting the upright piano. It was covered in dust, like practically everything else in the flat, but it still had a stately feel to it. It was an Essex, a cheaper brand produced by Steinway and Sons; its dark-brown finishing was warm and inviting, and it had taken his breath away when he'd laid eyes on it months ago. He recalled how the off-white keys had felt cool to his touch. The black keys were a beautiful contrast to their cream-coloured counterparts, and his fingers had danced across them briefly, effectively shutting the shopkeeper's overeager sales pitch, as the piano sang out its melody. He'd played a light, crystal-clear tune that'd been the opposite of his gloom, surprised to have chosen an old childhood lullaby his mum had sung when he was upset. He'd only played a few measures of the tune, but he'd known immediately he'd found the right piano.

Now it was abandoned.

He turned his attention back to his chess set, and with another sigh he re-organised the pieces to start a new game. After all, there really was nothing to do except to watch the telly while he munched on some crisps and drank Firewhisky until it was time to sleep.

* * *

Work was no longer fun. Back when Ron had first become an Auror, the rigorous training and field work had made him feel alive with enthusiasm. Whenever he and Harry had to investigate a new threat, whether it was a wanted criminal or a dispute between two drunken wizards, adrenaline had sparked every cell in his body, and the rush had encouraged him to work harder and better. That led to promotion after promotion, and it wasn't long before his position as a unit leader confined him to his desk with mountains of paperwork, while the younger Aurors went out and did the job he'd enjoyed in the past.

Day after day, he sat at his desk, sometimes shuffling papers, sometimes writing briefs, but most of the time Ron stared at this mark on the wall that was shaped oddly like a pumpkin, while his subordinate in the next room blared music from the wireless. He would be subjected to all the screeching and howling that would permeate his own office -- something he'd learned quickly to tune out since Silencing Charms weren't allowed in their area. Once in a while, classical music played. Ron found himself looking forward to those days; he usually found the classical music soothing.

That day was different, though.

It only took three notes, and he found himself pounding on his subordinate's door. "Turn that thing off, Horowitz!"

The door opened. Horowitz gave Ron a strange look. "You got something against classical?"

"No, I just don't want to hear that piece right now."

"You hate Rachmaninoff?"

Ron's lips thinned. "Just turn that shite off." He turned and went back to his office.

Leaning against his closed door, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. There was now silence, but Ron could still hear that piece in his head.

"Rachmaninoff's 'Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor'," he muttered. Normally, he liked Rachmaninoff, but this was a favourite of his ex-wife, and he was reminded of the news article he'd read last week in the Prophet -- an article proclaiming Hermione Granger-Weasley getting married to Quidditch star Viktor Krum.

He lowered his hand back to his side, and his fingers began to play that song on his thighs. "No!" he mentally shouted, not wanting to think of that song. He looked around, and he swore the room had grown smaller on him as his breathing quickened and his stomach flip-flopped until he was feeling queasy. He strode over to his desk, and he quickly scribbled a note on the Ministry Message Pad.

 _I'm going home early today. Not feeling well. Just need sleep.  
\-- R_

After he tapped the message with his wand and said Harry's name, he made his escape.

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Ron threw the bishop against the wall and ignored its indignant squeals. He began to pace around his small flat. His skin became taut, his mouth turned dry, and his heart rate increased as his agitation grew stronger inside of him. He wanted to punch something so he could hear the satisfying crunching noise. He needed to release that dam inside of him, but something was blocking it, and he had no idea what that something was.

He'd tried sleeping earlier, but he couldn't sleep. Whenever he stared at the dark ceiling, he could see Hermione and Viktor in a deep embrace as they snogged each other's tonsils out. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see them -- a calloused hand hiking up a skirt, feeling the smooth skin there before it disappeared under the material -- and it further angered him.

He ended up doing acrobatic moves on his spacious bed, even banged his arms and legs against the wall several times, before he gave up and resigned himself to a game of chess in the middle of the afternoon. He wanted to clear his mind and only think about chess, but his attempts were fruitless.

His mind was full of so many conflicting thoughts about his current life, and it didn't help that the stupid song was still in his head. That blasted Rachmaninoff piano concerto was lingering in the back of his mind, and like a stubborn itch it refused to go away.

He stopped pacing and gripped the top of his armchair. He wanted to squeeze his frustration through the cushion. Just as he was at his wit's end and was about to scream his lungs out, his doorbell rang.

He stalked over to the door, sure it was a salesman of some sort, and yanked it opened, ready to tell the salesman to piss off and never come near his flat again. His yell caught in his throat as he found himself staring at a smiling Teddy Lupin.

The next minute or so passed by slowly as Ron studied Teddy. The most obvious thing about Teddy was his hair. Ron was used to seeing Teddy's hair in unusual colours (he was certain Teddy had tried out every single colour of the rainbow), but seeing Teddy's shaggy brown hair and fringe littered with yellow and green polka dots was definitely something new. He also noticed that he didn't have to bend his head to look at Teddy's eyes, which were a mesmerising shade of blue. Ron took a step back and he glanced over Teddy's build. Gone was the skinny teenager he remembered from a few years back. Teddy was now broad-shouldered and had some muscles in his upper body. He wasn't heavy like Ron, but he no longer looked like one of those chips from Loch Arnold burger chain.

"Hello, Ron. May I come in?"

To Ron's dismay and before he could say anything, Teddy slipped past him, causing a shiver to go down his back as he felt Teddy's shoulder brush against his. Ignoring that strange sensation, he closed his door with the full intention to tell Teddy -- _politely_ \-- to bugger off, but Teddy began to dig around his bag for something and his mouth started to yap really fast.

"Apparently Harry got called away to Wales -- he said something about flying computers with wings, along with some flying pigs and cows, and that it's going to take him all night to resolve. Anyway, I finished my job for the day -- you know I'm a freelance writer, right? -- and I stopped by Harry's office since I hadn't seen him in ages. But he was in a terrible rush. He told me that you went home early because you didn't feel well, so he asked me to give you this -- if I can ever find the darn thing in this bag. I swear, I love this bag, but it's like a black hole. Once something goes in there, it's impossible to dig out . . . Ah-ha! Here it is!"

Teddy pulled out a foil-wrapped package that looked like it'd been beaten by several Bludgers. Ron took the smushed package and stared at it warily. "What is it?"

"Banana nut bread. Harry baked some. It's his way of relieving stress lately, and he's baked a whole boat load's worth and has been giving them away. He gave me and Gran about three loaves, and he asked me to give you one."

"Er, thanks."

Teddy grinned. "Bitte."

"Huh?"

"It means 'you're welcome' in German, I think. I've been recently watching a lot of German films with English subtitles."

"Oh, right." Ron set the bread down on the table, and he finally remembered his manners. He gestured at the two orange armchairs. "Have a seat. Want something to drink?"

"Actually, might I take your offer later? I've still got to deliver the rest of these loaves to your parents and the rest of your family."

"Huh?" Ron repeated, wondering if he was going senile at such an early age.

"I told you. Harry baked a lot of this stuff. He also asked me to deliver some to your parents, to Bill and Fleur, to George, to . . . well, you get the gist. Harry had the bread all piled up on his desk, but he had to go to Wales, so I've become his delivery boy for the day."

"And all that fits in your bag? I'm . . . impressed."

"Yeah, it's a great bag, except when I want to find something. Anyway, will tomorrow work?"

"Uh, I guess."

"What time?" Teddy's eyes shone brightly as he flashed a smile, giving Ron a good view of his crooked teeth.

Ron momentarily lost his thoughts. The crookedness reminded him of Hermione and her family's fondness for straight teeth, and he almost shuddered at a memory where, because of his father's morbid curiosity, Hermione's parents demonstrated how braces worked. He jerked himself back to reality and said, "Well, tomorrow's a half-day for me, so I'll get off work at one . . . "

"Great, then I'll stop by at about two. Enjoy the bread!" Teddy rushed out, and Ron stared at the now empty spot.

"Fantastic," Ron muttered. "Did I just get conned into a visit from Teddy Lupin, of all people?" Not that there was anything wrong with Teddy, really. It was just that he'd never been really close with him. Harry and George had been the one who interacted with Teddy the most, so he only knew Teddy through Harry, George, and their family gatherings.

To his surprise, he found himself looking forward to this unexpectedly planned visit. It would certainly break his routine up a bit.

Sitting back on his chair, he picked up the fallen bishop and wondered what tomorrow would be like. Just as he was about to resume his lonesome chess match, he sniffed and scrunched his nose in disgust. He stood and looked around his flat and grimaced.

"So much for finishing up this game," he muttered to himself.

* * *

At exactly two o'clock, with Ron's flat now in a much cleaner state -- at least it smelled better and wasn't as dusty -- his doorbell rang. Ron walked over to the door and let Teddy in. They exchanged the usual pleasantries before Ron gestured at him to take a seat and asked, "Tea?"

"Tea would be great, thanks." Teddy walked over to the chairs and he stared at the chess set. "Oh, hello, there. You, Bishop, you were on the floor yesterday, right? Why were you on the floor? Did you upset the queen? Women and their tempers . . . you've got to watch out for them!"

Ron burst out laughing at the wayTeddy was talking to inanimate objects. It reminded him of how Rose had played with her toys. Normally Ron thought it was childish when adults acted like that, but it actually suited Teddy -- albeit, in a strange and enticing way.

"I didn't know you could play the piano," Teddy said when Ron came over carrying a tray with a teapot, two teacups, sugar, and milk. Teddy set the chess set carefully on the floor, and Ron set the tray down.

As he prepared his cup, Ron shrugged and said, "I'm all right. I'm not that great with it."

"I bet you are!" Teddy insisted as he poured some milk into his tea.

"I'm not," Ron said, scowling.

"Prove it."

The words sounded like a challenge, but Teddy didn't look like he was issuing one at all; his eyes, now dark brown, reminded Ron of a puppy. Teddy's smile, so gentle and imploring, made Ron's insides twist in a way that made him want to play the piano, right then and now. "Prove it," Teddy repeated. "I want to hear you play."

Ron cleared his throat and averted his gaze from those puppy eyes. "Fine, but I haven't played in a long time, so don't you dare laugh if I make a lot of mistakes!"

Taking a seat at the piano, Ron opened up the cover to reveal the ivory and black keys. He glanced to his left, noticing Teddy's relaxed posture as he stood off to the side, still smiling with unabashed eagerness. Ron cleared his throat and ignored the way his stomach churned and his hands got wet; he quickly wiped them on his trousers.

His mind raced as he tried to pick a piece to perform, but the only thing in his mind was that _dreadful_ Rachmaninoff piano concerto. He closed eyes tightly, desperate to chase that song from his head; when he heard the faint sound of rain, he knew what to play. He opened his eyes and positioned his hands over the keys, and he played Chopin's "Raindrop Prelude".

It was sloppy, but that was expected since it'd been a while since he'd last practised. He made mistakes everywhere, his fingers stiff and clumsy, but he didn't stop, only concentrating on reaching the end. The first part of the piece washed over him, its serenity echoed in the small flat, and the repetitious A-flat from his left hand gave him a strange sense of peace. He continued the song and reached the middle section, and his tranquil mood dissipated to something like melancholy as he shifted from major to minor key. He wanted to hurry his pace, wanted to leave that gloomy C-sharp minor section, but he kept it slow and steady. As soon as he modulated into the major key once more, he relaxed in his playing. He slowly came to an end, feeling lighter than he had been for days, and he found himself wishing he didn't have to end the song. As he played the final notes, holding them longer than usual, he startled from the sudden sound of thunder.

He blinked up at Teddy, who was clapping enthusiastically with a beaming smile. "That was brilliant. Really, really brillaint! Chopin's 'Raindrop Song', right? See, I knew you were good!"

Ron felt his face turning red. "I'm not! That was actually one of my worst attempts ever! There were so many mistakes!"

"Oh, blah-dee-dah! Don't be so modest. That was actually pretty good, considering how you hadn't played in a while."

"Shut up," Ron muttered.

"Shove over," Teddy said.

"What?" Ron was about to stand and close the piano, but Teddy had scooted next to him and sat down. He could feel Teddy's hip and thigh against his, and that closeness made him dizzy. "W-what are you doing?"

"I want to show you my piano skills. They're really terrible, actually, but I wanted to play 'Heart and Soul' and 'Chopsticks' with you," Teddy whispered into Ron's ears, his warm breath affecting Ron's breathing.

Ron felt strangely light-headed, but he didn't feel uncomfortable, and he realised that having Teddy this close to him felt normal, almost natural -- like they'd done this before, but they hadn't. In fact, it was as if Teddy's definition of personal space were different from most people's, and Ron wanted to tell Teddy to move over a bit, but he didn't. What he said instead was, "Which 'Chopsticks'?"

Teddy looked at him blankly.

"I mean, there's the version known as 'The Celebrated Chop Waltz' which is what the Americans call 'Chopsticks', and then there's the one we call 'Chopsticks' which is really known as the 'The Flea Waltz'," Ron explained as he demonstrated the two pieces.

"Ah-ha! I know both. Let's play them. I'll be the left-side part."

"The chords?"

"Yeah. Those three songs, plus 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' are all I know how to play. You can have fun with the variations on the right."

Ron chortled. "Fine, fine."

Teddy started playing the chords for "Heart and Soul", his right arm bumping into Ron's. Two grown men on a single piano bench really didn't leave much space at all. Ron could feel warmth emanating from Teddy, and he could feel himself growing light-headed once more. Light-headed or not, though, with Teddy's steady rhythm and beat, he was drawn into playing the songs Teddy wanted to play. Variation after variation, the melody flowed through his fingers, and Teddy kept up with Ron, never faltering. At one point, Ron glanced at Teddy's face, and he saw the closed eyes, the happy smile. Teddy was deriving simple pleasure from playing the simple part of the songs while Ron played as complicated as he wanted to. They somehow meshed well together. When Ron played slowly, Teddy slowed down, and when Ron sped up, Teddy would match his tempo without a break in his playing.

Playing with Teddy was exhilarating. Sure, they were playing songs that Ron found easy and unchallenging, but this was the first time he felt like he found a partner who was perfectly in tune with his playing. In the past, whenever he played duets with anyone, he had never really fit with them, but with Teddy, it was almost a flawless match.

After they came to the end, Ron asked, "Have you had musical training?"

"I took violin lessons for years. What about you? How long have you played?"

Ron eyes grew large. "Really? That would explain your good sense of rhythm. My great-aunt Muriel wanted to teach one of us. I think she really wanted to teach Bill, but he and the rest of my siblings weren't interested. Except for me. I had lessons with her from when I was four until I went to Hogwarts. To be honest, she was a real harpy, but she did teach me a lot."

"I'm absolute pants with the piano, though. Gran tried to get me to be skilled with both the violin and the piano, but I preferred the violin more. In fact . . . " Teddy's face became thoughtful, and his hair colour changed from brown to turquoise. "Do you know that 'Spring Sonata' by Beethoven? I think it's 'Violin Sonata No. 5'? And 'Salut d'Amour' by Elgar?"

"I know 'Salut d'Amour', but I've never played the piano part." Ron frowned as he tried to remember the Beethoven piece. "How'd the 'Spring' one go?"

Teddy started to hum the piece, and Ron nodded slowly and said, "Sounds familiar."

"I've got the sheet music for them. I play them sometimes, but it's rather boring playing without the accompaniment." Teddy plunked out some notes on the piano, and he stared at the keys. "If I bring the music, would you play with me?"

Ron studied Teddy's body language, and he realised that Teddy was nervous about asking this. That made him feel uncertain, too, and he said, "Well, I wouldn't mind, but I don't think I'm that good to accompany--"

"You are good!" Teddy interrupted, his brown eyes looking determined and his hair colour turning more vivid. "I'm just not sure I'll be good compared to you. It's been forever since I've played the violin, too."

Awkwardly, Ron patted Teddy's shoulder, feeling the tense muscles there, as well the heat. "I'll be the judge of that. Just bring the sheet music and we'll play together." He was keen on the idea. It really had been far too long since he'd been this interested in music. Plus, he trusted his instincts, and they were telling him that Teddy was a good violinist. "How does Saturday sound to you?"

Teddy grinned. "Just not early, okay? I cannot wake up before noon."

Ron raised his eyebrow. "Will three o'clock work for you, Mr Late Sleeper?"

"Great!" Teddy stood up and stretched, making his shirt ride up and revealing his well-toned abs.

Ron's mouth grew dry, and he briefly wondered why Teddy had this effect on him before saying, "Let's finish our tea. I'll warm them up with a spell."

* * *

After a long conversation about the Cannons -- Teddy was a fan, much to Ron's delight -- they talked about other things, mostly about Teddy's job as a freelance writer and Ron's earlier days in the field, and about what they had seen on the telly. When it was time to eat supper, Teddy treated them to a take-away of fish and chips. It was fun, Ron thought, to talk with Teddy. It'd been a while since he had felt comfortable enough with someone to talk about innocuous subjects, and Teddy was just a cheerful bloke to talk with. He realised that, after being alone for months, he actually missed human company. His other friends had tried to get him to hang out at pubs or wherever, but Ron had shoved them away, not wanting their pity or to be around fake cheeriness, something he couldn't stand. Whereas, Teddy just simply came into his life and showed him simple companionship that was _real_. And a bit odd, if he was really honest with himself, but he didn't mind Teddy's quirky personality at all.

Aside from their conversations, Ron found himself looking forward to hearing Teddy on the violin. He was curious on what sort of a sound Teddy would produce. He just hoped Teddy wasn't one of those musicians who sounded like crap despite their long years of training; after all, it wasn't that length that mattered, but it was rather the individual's dedication to better himself through practise.

On Saturday, Teddy arrived with his violin. Ron wasn't an expert on the violin, but from what he could see, it looked rather expensive and also old. He watched Teddy take the violin out carefully from its case, and he admired its rich brown colour. He wondered if it was a Black heirloom or not, but before he could ask, Teddy said, "I've brought over Stravinsky."

"Stravinsky?"

"Yeah, that's what I named my violin. Gran gave it to me. She was appalled I'd call her heirloom after a composer she detests." Teddy shrugged and placed the violin under his chin. "I don't know why she has a thing against him. I think his works are brilliant."

Ron nodded, though secretly agreeing with Andromeda's opinions on Stravinsky. "Well, not everyone likes him, I guess."

"A shame, really." With the violin still under his chin, Teddy went through his bag and pulled out the sheet music after muttering to himself during his search. "Here. I couldn't find the Beethoven one. It's hiding somewhere in my room -- Gran says my room is more like a rubbish bin -- but I found the Elgar piece."

"Thanks." Ron placed the sheet music on his piano. "What about you? I could transfigure something into a stand for you."

"Nah, I've memorised the piece. Can you play the tuning pitch? I don't think we're going to sound good if I'm not in tune with you."

Ron obliged Teddy's request and played the pitch, listening to Teddy tune and adjust his strings and begin his warm-up. Ron tuned out Teddy's scale exercises, and he studied the sheet music in front of him, his fingers hovering over the keys as he played out the song without making a sound.

"Okay," Teddy said. "I'm ready."

With a nod, Ron began to play the accompaniment, his opening a solo. When Teddy came in, Ron nearly froze upon hearing Teddy's first note. Teddy's sound was clear and bright, and it washed over him, lifting his mood. They played and they were in perfect sync. Just like Orpheus and his lyre, Teddy's violin demanded Ron's attention and he wished time would stop; there was an invisible, unspoken connection between him and Teddy, and he didn't want the song to come to an end, lest the connection disappear from him forever like Eurydice did.

The piece, unfortunately, came to an end, and Ron turned around and met Teddy's intense gaze. The air felt heavy between them, yet it didn't weigh Ron down at all. Instead, he slowly stood and in a raspy voice he said, "That was fantastic. I'm not going to believe anything you say about your playing from now on."

"I really haven't played in a while," Teddy insisted, but he smiled.

Ron smiled back, and they continued to stare at each other -- Ron in front of the bench and Teddy a few steps away, still holding onto the violin. He didn't know what to say next. Somehow, there wasn't really anything more he could say. The heaviness in the air wrapped around him once more, and he found himself moving closer to Teddy. He reached out his long fingers and he touched Teddy's slender fingers, the ones holding onto the bow, and he grasped the bow and set it aside gently, and then he did the same with the violin until there was nothing obscuring Teddy's body. Their eyes met once more, and Ron's breath hitched slightly as Teddy moved closer and whispered into Ron's ear. "Do you like Beethoven's symphony?"

Ron suppressed a shiver and licked at his dry lips with his tongue. "Which one?"

"The seventh. It's my favourite."

"I prefer the fifth, but the seventh one isn't so bad."

"I've got two tickets to the Royal Albert Hall. London Philharmonic Orchestra is going to perform that. Would you like to go?"

"Uh . . . " Ron's brain felt hazy. It took him a few seconds to get his tongue working again. "Sure, why not?"

"Great!" Teddy yelled.

Ron jerked away, and he scowled, realising that the weird spell that had overcome him had been broken with Teddy's excited shout. "Next time, yell into someone else's ear!"

"Oh, sorry." Grinning, Teddy stepped away and he grabbed his violin and bow and began to play a wild version of "Heart and Soul" on it. "I'm just excited because none of my friends like classical music, so I always attend those concerts by myself. It's more fun to go with someone who likes that sort of stuff. You won't mind if I bring a notepad, will you? I need it to jot down notes about the concert since I am a music critic for one of my freelance assignments."

"I don't mind."

"Okay, then next Saturday at six? And wear a nice outfit."

Ron grimaced. "Does that include a tie?" He hated those things because he felt like they always choked him.

"Nah, though I think you'd look nice in one."

It was just an offhand comment, but something about it made him want to ask Teddy something. He didn't. Instead, he let the comment slide and said, "We'll see."

"All right. Do you mind if I practise a bit more?"

"Go ahead. I'll get us some tea."

* * *

The telly was on, but Ron wasn't paying attention to it at all. In fact, the telly might have been on mute since all he could hear was Teddy's humming as he pondered on his next move in their chess game. The concert had ended a couple of hours ago, but they'd come back to Ron's place to have some tea while they relaxed with a round of chess -- Teddy as white and Ron as black.

Ron, his head ducked as if he were studying the board, was really looking at Teddy, who, with a wide smile and his purple hair, was happily humming Beethoven's seventh symphony. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up; Ron really liked that look on Teddy. He noted Teddy's rosy, dimpled cheeks, and he knew that Teddy had really enjoyed the performance. Until today, he had never really paid attention to Beethoven's seventh symphony, never noticed how it was one of those symphonies that had so much passion. Of course, the second movement wasn't as bouncy and exciting as the other movement, but it was beautiful regardless of its melancholy mood. The symphony fit Teddy's personality, and that conclusion made Ron like the whole piece even more.

Teddy also proved to have really good hearing as he talked about the concert. "That was great. I always enjoy listening to London Philharmonic, but I think the second violins were a bit off tonight."

"Were they? I didn't hear anything off."

"Oh, they were. Then there's the brass section. They overpowered the strings in some parts. But all in all, this was a good, solid performance. I'll have fun writing my article later tonight."

Ron raised an eyebrow, remembering how when he'd glanced at Teddy's notes earlier, they looked like illegible scrawls that he could never decipher. "It's already almost ten. When is this 'later'?"

"Oh, probably two in the morning. All my best writing comes out after midnight, strangely." Teddy grinned and finally moved his piece.

"A night owl, huh?"

"A big one. My sleeping schedule drives Gran crazy. She can't comprehend why I can't sleep from ten at night to six in the morning like the 'normal' people."

"Ah."

"Though if I was in a relationship and shagged regularly, I reckon my sleeping schedule wouldn't be so backwards."

Ron nearly spat out his tea at that statement -- which was said in a very frank manner -- but started to cough instead. "I . . . I see."

"Yeah. It's been a while since I found anybody I'd want to be in a relationship with." Their eyes met right when Teddy finished that sentence, and Ron found himself unable to look away. Teddy's face was smiling, but his eyes were serious, and those eyes burned Ron, making his mouth grow dry. Just like that day when they'd played together, Ron felt like someone had cast a spell on him. He set his tea cup down and he let his hand reach out across the board to -- to do what, he wasn't certain. Maybe it was to stroke Teddy's red cheeks, which appeared more flushed than earlier, or maybe it was to run his thumb over Teddy's bottom lips and feel the chapped skin there.

Instead, he pulled off a piece of lint off of Teddy's shoulder.

"Thanks," Teddy said in a husky voice that sent heat to Ron's middle.

Ron didn't say anything. He couldn't. His vocal chords had died on him, and he felt like his hands had become their own entity as they reached out to cup Teddy's face . . .

"Oh, bugger!" Teddy shouted and jumped up. "I just remembered I have another article I have to write that's due tomorrow at eight in the morning!" He grabbed his jacket and looked at Ron with an apologetic expression. "Sorry to dash off, but can we meet sometime next week for dinner? I know a very good Italian restaurant nearby. I'll send you a message."

Startled, Ron could only nod at Teddy's request. Teddy grinned once more before he Apparated away with a crack.

It was only when he was in bed later did he realise that Teddy had yet somehow conned him into another meeting, another _date_ of some sort. Like an unexpected whirlwind, Teddy had swooped into his life, breaking a monotonous routine he'd set himself up for months, and it was Teddy who showed him that he'd been truly lonely. Had it been anybody else, Ron surely would have resented that person from disrupting his solitude, but he didn't mind Teddy at all. Really, he didn't, but he was even more confused with his feelings than ever. Did he like Teddy? Was he gay? Since when? Sure, Teddy was attractive, and he did enjoy Teddy's company, but did he _like_ Teddy that way?

Confused, he fell asleep with all those questions in his mind.

When Ron opened his eyes, he found himself standing next to his bed. On his bed, sprawled out naked except for a sheet covering his lower body, was Teddy, who was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His chest heaved as he panted lightly. Ron gazed at Teddy's swollen lips, growing warm as he watched Teddy's tongue flicked out. Teddy's hair was the same colour as his flushed skin, and they were matted against his forehead.

But it was Teddy's eyes -- full of lust and desire -- that captured Ron's attention. Ron found himself being drawn to them again, drowning in them, and when Teddy let out a low "Ron, more, please!", he climbed on top of Teddy and kissed him hard, without any hesitance, desperately wanting to taste Teddy, to soothe that fire burning deep inside of him. His hands flew everywhere, touching, grasping, stroking -- never stopping at all.

They both moaned when Ron grinded his hips against Teddy's, the friction from their movement and the sheet between them sending waves of pleasure through their bodies, both shifting and groaning as they sought the release they desperately wanted. Ron slipped his hand in the sheet, grasped at Teddy's hip, and he rubbed the area with his thumb, so close and near his goal . . .

Ron startled awake when he heard his alarm. Disorientated, he squinted his eyes and looked around his dim room. He sat up in his bed, and he felt stickiness in his pants.

"Merlin," he groaned. He hadn't had a sexual dream in ages, not since his divorce, and he was perplexed that Teddy would be the first one to grace his dreams after all these months.

Feeling quite frustrated, he did the only things he could do -- wank away his fantasies and hope they would disappear soon, and, as Hermione would do, overanalyse this new predicament.

* * *

"Aren't we supposed to meet at the restaurant in an hour?" Ron asked, staring at Teddy, who was holding a picnic basket in the middle of his sitting room, noting Teddy's attire consisting of a t-shirt, shorts, a light jacket, and a pair of trainers. "And you told me it was a slightly fancy restaurant, so why are you dressed like . . . " Not that he was better dressed than Teddy. He himself was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, as he was going to get ready and changed until Teddy appeared in his flat.

"The restaurant I was going to take us to is closed this week for renovations. I thought about some different alternatives, and I came up with the idea that we should have a picnic!"

Ron glanced at the window and then back at Teddy. "But it's raining out today."

"Ah, I meant an _indoor_ picnic." Teddy beamed and motioned at the sitting room. "May I?"

Nodding, Ron watched Teddy carefully set his chess board in safe place, shrink the table and the two chairs, pull out a bright orange blanket, spread it on the floor, and place the basket in the middle. "Have a seat."

Ron started to laugh. He couldn't help it. This was a kooky idea, but he actually had to admit it was very unique and different from anything he'd ever done so far. Admittedly, it was rather childish, but Teddy's enthusiasm made everything seem so refreshingly new that Ron couldn't help but go along with it.

Still laughing, he sat on the soft blanket, and Teddy joined him and emptied the basket of enough food to feed the entire Ministry. There were sandwiches filled with juicy meat, crunchy lettuce, and fresh tomatoes on toasted bread that were still warm. The strawberries and watermelon slices were sweet and cold and delicious. The biscuits were sweet, too, and they were mouth-meltingly perfect. Teddy had even brought a bottle of champagne. Ron was amazed by how thorough Teddy was with his planning. He wondered if Teddy had originally planned this in the first place and the Italian restaurant suggestion was just a bluff; thinking this made him smile into his sandwich. If this was Teddy's intention all along -- to have a picnic in the middle of a sitting room -- then Ron wasn't surprised by the way Teddy presented the idea. The bloke was a Slytherin, after all.

Still musing about how this was a very interesting idea, Ron chewed and swallowed before asking, "Did you make these sandwiches?"

Teddy nodded.

"You must be a great cook."

"Actually, I'm horrible at cooking," Teddy explained with a grin. "Sandwiches are the only things I can make without causing an explosion in the kitchen."

"Really?" Ron eyed the biscuits because they were certainly home-made and not store-bought. "What about the biscuits?"

"Oh, those? Harry baked those and sent some over to me when I told him I was going on a picnic."

"Did you tell him it was going to be an indoor picnic?"

"Of course. This was his idea."

"Huh?" Ron felt something clench inside of him. Had Harry become psychic and somehow found out about all of his hidden, _unexplainable_ , desires and fantasies about Teddy? But if Harry found out, then what kind of idea was this? Was this his way of saying to be with Teddy? Was this just another scheme to get him to go on a date with Teddy? But if this was yet another date . . . then did that mean Teddy liked him back?

With that many unanswered questions battling in his mind, he almost missed Teddy's explanation. "When I was younger, Harry would do this with me, especially on a rainy day. To keep me from going stir-crazy, this was something we'd do as a lunch substitute."

"Oh," Ron exhaled loudly, relieved that Harry hadn't indirectly set this up or anything. But now all those nightly wanks and fantasies of seeing Teddy naked on his bed bombarded him, and he felt heat pooling up deep inside of him. Stifling back a groan, he willed himself to calm down and to think about that one time he accidentally saw Aunt Muriel naked when he was about nine, truly one of his most traumatising childhood moments aside from that Spider Bear incident.

That did the trick, but then he made the mistake of looking down at Teddy's bare feet and legs. One of his most recent dreams had featured Teddy -- naked as always -- on his back, with Ron ravishing Teddy's chest. Teddy let out moan after moan, all of them sultry and growing louder whenever Ron had found a sensitive spot, and Teddy would arch his back and extend his strong legs as his toes curled from the pleasure. And those same legs would later be wrapped around Ron's waist, locked tight at the ankles to make sure Ron didn't go anywhere.

"Ron?" Teddy's voice broke through his thoughts, and Ron welcomed that distraction as he thought about Aunt Muriel again.

"Yeah?"

"Since we're done eating, let's clean up and I'll put your sitting room back in order."

"All right."

Ron stood up and they both cleaned and arranged the room back to order. It was when they were finally sitting in the orange chairs that Teddy said, "It's kind of last minute, but I've been given two tickets to a concert in a couple of days. It's going to be a piano concerto." Teddy's eyes twinkled. "Want to go with me?"

Despite his conflicting feelings towards Teddy, Ron ended up smiling. Teddy's positive attitude was contagious and, strangely enough, addicting. "Sure, which piano concerto is it?"

"It's a Rachmaninoff piece."

"Oh?" Ron felt something akin to dread in his stomach.

"It's the second one."

No longer smiling, his eyebrows now scrunched together, Ron's answer came out swiftly. " _No_."

"No?" Teddy looked at him with a startled expression. "Why not?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I hate that piece."

Teddy began to frown. "Why do you hate it? It's such a brilliant piece, truly one of the best piano concertos in the world, so I can't understand why someone like you would--"

" _Shut up_." He was growling, and he didn't care. He really didn't want to think of that song right now.

"If you could just explain to me why--"

"You're too young to understand!"

"I'm not that young. How can you assume that without testing me first? I want to understand, and if you explain--"

"Why don't you drop this?" Ron stood up and began to pace around the small room. "I hate that bloody song, and I hate it when people listen to it around me! Now you're trying to get me to go to an actual live concert featuring that piece? And now you want to know why? I don't have to explain it to you!"

"Ron, wait--"

"Stop it already! Leave!"

Teddy looked stricken, and that painful expression and the forlorn and downcast eyes made Ron feel guilty at the way he snapped at Teddy, but he was too upset, too disgusted with the way he was acting to apologise. Wearily, Ron whispered, "Leave."

Without another word, Teddy left, and Ron could feel all the happiness being sucked out of his flat and out of him. He threw himself onto his chair and threw his arm over his eyes, and he clenched his fists hard until he could feel his nails digging into his palms. Feeling like shite, he muttered, "Bloody hell, I'm a fucking prick."

* * *

Ron stared at the blank screen of his telly. Already a week had passed since his picnic with Teddy. His flat, which he'd been trying to keep clean, had returned to its smelly state, and it was rapidly becoming dusty, too. All week long, he'd been in a terrible mood as guilt, confusion, and frustration waged several wars inside of him. He was especially an ogre on the day of that damned Rachmaninoff concert. Everywhere he went, the song haunted him, and so did Teddy's hurt expression. He shouldn't have said that to Teddy; he should have apologised and just changed the subject that day. He should have stopped Teddy from leaving; he shouldn't have taken his anger and frustration out on him.

He also hated himself for being confused on his sexual orientation. He was 39, almost 40, so if he was gay or bi or whatever -- how much of an idiot was he to realise this fact now? He considered that maybe he was confused since it'd been a while since his last shag, but he knew, deep inside, that that wasn't the case. He wanted Teddy. There was nobody else he was attracted to. Teddy was the only one he wanted, but he was too insecure, too unsure, and too afraid to do anything about this. In fact, he wasn't sure just how he could mend their rift at all.

Angrily, he stood up, so wound-up that his skin felt taut. He needed to do something to let off his steam, and chess was not going to help this time. His eyes landed on his piano, and he stalked over to it and sat down, playing the first thing that came into his mind. It was a song he always played when he was upset, a piece that required so much strength and power that it always left him feeling exhausted, like he'd run a marathon.

Chopin's Étude Op. 10, No. 4, otherwise known as "Torrent", sounded out from his piano, his fingers furiously flew up and down the keys, his back tense as he played out the aggravation he'd had the entire week. He closed his eyes, and Teddy's face -- hurt and miserable looking -- flashed by, and he played harder, his foot stepping on the pedal with enough force to nearly put it through his floor. He didn't care about that. He only wanted to play this piece and hear the sixteenth notes thundering and echoing in his flat. He wanted to tire himself out and not think about Teddy and everything else that was aggravating him.

He eventually came to the end of the song, and he was panting from the sheer workout he'd just been through; his arms and back were sore, and his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. Unfortunately, though, he was still too tense and upset. He was about to slam his fists on the keys, not caring if he broke the piano or not, when he heard something behind him.

Standing, he spun and pointed his wand into his brother's face.

"Oi! Point that elsewhere!" George protested, backing away as he held onto a pie in both hands.

"It's you," Ron said in a flat voice, bringing his wand down as he sat back on the bench, his legs weak after the sudden rush of adrenaline. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that how you greet your favourite brother?" George asked, making a face as he set the pie on the mantel.

Ron rolled his eyes and glanced at the pie. "What's with the pie?"

"Harry baked this and he requested I bring you one. It's Hogsmeade weekend, so he took off to go deliver the rest of his baked goods to my lovely niece and nephews."

Upon hearing about Hogsmeade weekend, Ron felt another pang of guilt. Ever since the divorce, he hadn't been keeping in touch with Rose or Hugo. He really should respond to Rose's letter and send some new Muggle trading cards he'd promised to Hugo and make plans to meet up with them at Hogsmeade. Not wanting to think on all the parts of his life that had gone to shite, he put on a tight smile and said, "How's your shop?"

George's eyes grew intense and focused. "Surely that's not what you really want to talk about, is it?"

"What?"

"Along with this pie, I've also come to knock some sense into you. Just what the hell did you do to Teddy? He's been coming to the shop all week, so depressed that none of my prank items are making him laugh! And I need him to be in a good mood. His writing's turned dismal and his articles reviewing my prank items have none of his eager and cheerful attitude!"

Ron's mouth fell open, but he quickly closed it and demanded, "How -- what -- what makes you think I have anything to do with this?"

"I know, Ron." George frowned and continued, "I know he likes you."

"Of course he likes me -- we're friends," Ron answered in an unconvincing tone.

"Ron. He _fancies_ you! He told me about you guys playing the violin and the piano. He told me about that Beethoven concert. And he also told me about the picnic, which had gone all right until you kicked him out for no reason."

Clenching his fist, Ron mumbled, "I had my reasons."

"Oh? Do tell." George crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at him pointedly. "He mentioned something about you hating a Rackmoney bloke. Said something about you not wanting to go to a concert he invited you to."

" _Rachmaninoff_."

"Don't snap at me, baby brother. How about explaining to me what got your prick wound up like a pretzel?"

A long moment of silence passed. Ron opened his mouth to tell George to piss off, but before he could say anything, George continued, "Let me guess. It's because that particular Rackmoney bloke's song was a favourite of Hermione's."

"Shut up!" Ron growled, turning his head to look at the drab-looking curtains.

George sighed loudly, and he leaned against the mantel. "I want you to think about this. Are you really angry at Hermione for leaving you for Krum, or are you angry at her for something else entirely?"

"What other reason would--"

"I've always questioned your obsession with Krum in your fourth year. I also can't help but wonder if you'd be this angry with Hermione if she had gone for a different bloke."

George's words punched him in his stomach, making him wrap his arms around himself as he tried to deny his brother's words -- words that were so true and so finite that he desperately told himself that he had his reasons back then and had his reasons for denying his real desires all these years. The dam he had deep inside broke as all the years of suppressed desire and guilt came tumbling out.

In a soft voice, George said, "Don't do this, Ron. Don't try to lie to yourself any more. No one's going to begrudge you for your choices. You . . . you have the choice to do what you want."

There was a catch in George's voice that made Ron look up, and he saw sorrow in his brother's eyes. Ron didn't have to ask. He knew what George meant in his unsaid words.

George gave a wan smile as he fingered the ring on his finger, Fred's ring. "Think about it, Ron. At the least, go apologise to Teddy." He turned and Flooed himself out, and Ron was left alone.

It was a long time before Ron moved from his spot on the bench. When he did, he knew what he wanted to do.

* * *

Ron stared at the door, ignoring the whispers from the passer-bys, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this. He had to make amends with Teddy and get over his past.

He rang the bell, his finger shaky, and he waited.

The door opened, and he momentarily startled upon seeing a dull looking Teddy. Gone was his bright coloured hair, replaced with a drab-looking brown. His eyes were blank, and there were bags below them. Still, Teddy smiled -- forced a smile -- and said, "Hello."

"Huck--" Ron cleared his throat. "Hi." He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head and he looked down at his feet.

Teddy stepped back and opened the door wider. "Come on in."

"Thanks." He walked in and looked around. "Where's your grandmother?"

"Gran? She went to visit Aunt Narcissa." Teddy led them to the sitting room. "Do you want anything to drink?"

Ron hated this Teddy, this stiff, formal Teddy who was nothing like the passionate and slightly eccentric young man he'd grown fond of in the last few weeks. Shaking his head, he sat down at the couch, and he quickly launched onto his question. "Do you have a recording of that Rachmaninoff concerto? The first movement, at least?"

"Yes." A curious expression crossed Teddy's face.

"Look, I've got lots of crap that is associated with this particular piece, but I . . . I want us to listen to it together. I want to listen to it with you because I know it's one of your favourites."

Teddy cocked his head and looked at him thoughtfully. "I've a stereo system in my room. We can listen to it there."

Ron nodded, trying not to think about how intimate the idea was. "Sure."

They went to Teddy's room, and Ron knew immediately why Teddy couldn't find that Beethoven violin and piano sonata. The room was filled with books and papers _everywhere_. There were books and papers on the nightstands, on the stereo system, on the desk, on the desk chair, and everywhere on the floor, including under the bed -- the top of which was surprisingly the only clean spot in the whole room. That was where Ron sat after he carefully stepped around the books and papers.

Teddy fiddled around with the stereo system, and when he finished he joined Ron on the bed, sitting next to him, but not touching him at all.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Ron opened his eyes when he heard the first notes, the familiar bell-like sounds, followed by the orchestra playing the main melody, and he remembered the first time he'd heard and fallen in love with this piece. As the concerto played, he travelled back to the summer before his fourth year, before the Quidditch World Cup. This song had come on the wireless as he had been flipping through a Quidditch magazine. He stopped when he saw the moving picture of Viktor Krum, who was flying with a sullen expression; yet when Ron's eyes gazed over his slender body, in his Quidditch uniform, Ron was captivated. He stared at the way Viktor would fly around the page, watched the grace that was visible in most Seekers, his movements matching the elegant, lyrical piece of the song, and when he did the Wronski Feint, the piano repeated the main melody in a march-style that made Ron's chest burst with emotion.

That was the moment when he had fallen for Viktor Krum. He remembered how he'd been horrified by this revelation and how he'd felt like he was the odd one out in his family, so he frantically tried to suppress any thoughts about Viktor, but it was hopeless. He fell more in love with him at the World Cup match, at Hogwarts when the tournament was going on, during the Yule Ball when he saw that Viktor had taken Hermione to the ball . . .

Then when he'd finally got together with Hermione, he succeeded in his quest to suppress any sexual urges he had towards Viktor. With the Rachmaninoff piece -- how ironic that Hermione had ended up liking that particular piece -- he was able to associate that with Hermione instead of Viktor . . . until Hermione went to Viktor after the divorce.

But Ron no longer wanted to associate this song with them. He wanted to focus on the present, so he turned his head to look at Teddy, with the song still playing in the background. The song didn't fit Teddy at all; it was kind of strange that Teddy even liked this song since he generally preferred music in a major key. He tried to figure this puzzle out, and then Teddy's eyes met his. Ron lost all sense of time while he stared into those deep eyes.

Passion, he realised. Teddy was full of passion. Whatever he did, whether it was to play the violin with such force that each notes commanded his attention, to play those simple piano pieces that brought a smile to his face, to talk his ears off about the most inane things, to come up with ideas that turned his life around -- it was what made him _Teddy_ , and it was what the Rachmaninoff piece had -- _passion_ \-- despite the sombre tone.

Towards the end of the song, Teddy's gentle hands reached out and cupped Ron's cheeks, and Ron, feeling the tears in his eyes, feeling drained from weeks and months of uncertainty, guilt, and sadness, accepted the tender touch; he moved closer to rest his head on Teddy's shoulder and pressed himself closer when Teddy's arm wrapped around him.

Soon, the first movement finally came to an end. Ron tried to explain everything to Teddy. "Look, I . . . y-you see, back when I was about fourteen, I -- er --" He swallowed hard and tried again. "I associated this song with someone . . . a guy . . . and I--"

Run shut up when he felt one of Teddy's callused fingers on his lips. He looked up and he nearly sobbed from seeing the understanding expression on Teddy's calm face. Teddy whispered, "It's okay. It's okay, Ron. I know. _I know_."

That simple declaration broke the last remaining barrier Ron had up to now, and he reached up and kissed Teddy, who kissed him back with so much force and heat that Ron lay back on the bed and pulled Teddy up on top of him.

He didn't know how long they kissed. He didn't care. He only knew that Teddy, pressing down on him, felt so good. When Teddy slipped his tongue inside his mouth, Ron felt heat explode everywhere inside of him. He could taste Teddy and smell him and feel his warmth. His hands touched everything and played their own solos as they explored and found spots that made Teddy moan in their kisses. His own moans echoed with Teddy's, and he wanted Teddy to touch him until they both reached that edge they both needed and wanted.

When Teddy whispered, "You're the only thing -- _one_ \-- I ever want anymore," Ron kissed him again, and also whispered, "Me too."

* * *

"I can't believe you made me wear a tie."

"It looks good on you."

"It's yellow with black polka dots. Are you trying to tell me something here? You do realise I was a Gryffindor, right?

"I know, but red and gold is boring."

"And you're wearing a blue and silver tie."

Teddy laughed. "Your point?"

"Next time, stick with our individual house colours!" Ron gave him a mocking glare, but it quickly turned into a smile. "This is how you thank me, huh?"

"Oh, I'll thank you in a much different way when we get home after this concert."

Ron felt his cheeks getting warm, and he ducked his head as he looked around the lobby, which was filled with people waiting to go into the concert hall to hear Tchaikovsky's "Violin Concerto in D Major".

Teddy leaned over and whispered, "I'm really glad you invited me to this concert. I'm actually looking forward to enjoying a concert I don't have to write a review for."

Ron nodded. He purposely chose this performance because it was a violin concerto; it was a piece he'd heard recently on the wireless and it was one of those pieces that just fit Teddy. So when he heard about this performance, he bought the tickets and invited Teddy. Of course, he also had an ulterior motive to all of this. He lowered his voice and conspiratorially said, "Yes, you don't have to write a review, but I expect you to perform the solo part tomorrow from memory for me."

Teddy's eyes opened wide before it narrowed and he said, "If you make me do that, I'll spell a permanent cock ring on you."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would," Teddy said as he straightened himself up. "So what are you going to do? Do you still want me to play tomorrow?"

Ron sighed loudly and smiled. "Fine, fine. You don't have to play it tomorrow. But I do want to hear you play it one day."

"All right." With a last impish grin, Teddy leaned and planted a soft kiss on Ron's cheek. He looked at the opened doors. "But let's worry about that later." He laced their hands and they walked into the concert hall.

Together.

Ron tightened his hold and he said, "All right, Teddy. All right."


End file.
